Kill the Lights
by PolarisAmane
Summary: A young girl has been murdered and magic might be the cause. Batman, never one to trust magic, reluctantly asks Zatanna for her help solving the case.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer – I own nothing! No money was made from this; blah, blah, blah... You know the rest.**

**Thanks to Richie Cunningham and SoldierG-65434-2 for beta-ing the ever-loving shit out of this.**

Kill the Lights

Zatanna's heels clicked against the wooden floor of the stage as she strode across it, counting her steps.

_One, two, three, four..._

She stopped and sighed loudly, her hands going to her hips. "There's not enough space."

"Hmm? Whazzat?"

Zatanna turned her head and looked to Mikey. "The stage, there's not enough space. We won't be able to do the Doubles trick. I was hoping to do it for the finale."

Mikey leaned back on the balls of her heels, a long plank of wood resting on her shoulders. Her messy blonde hair was hidden beneath a baseball cap, and she was wearing scruffy jeans and a worn grey shirt that might have once had Zatanna's trademarked logo on it, but now only showed a patchy dark image that could have been anything. She was standing in the middle aisle, roughly halfway up the seats of the auditorium and still far too close to the stage for Zatanna's liking.

"Just scooch in closer boss, you don't need all that space to make the trick work," Mikey said with an indolent smile.

Zatanna shook her head and crouched down, skimming her fingertips across the worn wood of the old stage. "Er, yeah I do. There's no way we'd fit the mirrors in the right places if I'm pressed in too close."

"Could always cheat." Mikey twirled her finger round in a circle.

"I am shocked at you Mikey, shocked right down to my very core," Zatanna replied. She thought a moment, resting her chin on her hand. "I guess I could finish with a different trick... Maybe the water chamber?"

"Think everyone's sick of seeing that one boss."

"Well it's not as though I'm getting paid for this. You only get the innovated tricks when you shell out the cash." Zatanna stood up and dusted off her jeans. The stage was also unacceptably dirty, but that was something that Mikey would no doubt take care of.

"This is for charity though."

Zatanna sighed loudly. "Well what then? The stage is tiny, I can't fit half of my equipment on it and that means I can't even do half my usual routine. Why are they holding this in such a small place anyways?" The theatre, Imaginarium, or something ridiculous like that, was probably the smallest she'd been in years; since she'd first started out and she'd performed card tricks in dingy clubs and risked the wandering, groping hands of salacious drunks. She walked to the edge of the stage and hopped down, moving towards Mikey.

"Nice an' intimate though, dontcha think?"

"If I wanted to get up close and personal with the audience I'd be a street magician."

Mikey smiled lazily at her. "I'm told it's the way forward. Edgy, y'know, something the kids can get into."

"Setting myself on fire in the middle of the road while I deal a pack of cards is not edgy, it's just stupid." Zatanna turned and looked back at the stage. "I'm thinking a big escapist trick. Not the water chamber, maybe the gallows, something like that."

"I think ya just want to be tied up, boss."

Zatanna couldn't help but smirk at that. "Maybe I do, it can be pretty fun."

"Now I know why the bad guys bound and gag you so much."

"You're hilarious, Mikey, did I ever mention that?"

Mikey placed the plank of wood on the ground and put her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly, as though the wood had weighed a huge amount and had been taxing for her, which was ridiculous, Zatanna rarely saw Mikey without tools or materials in hand and knew that she could easily lift far more than her moderate frame suggested. And for all of her teasing, Zatanna also knew that Mikey was just as frustrated by the lack of space as she was; the small stage meant less room for Mikey's fantastic constructs and props.

"Magic cabinet!" Mikey said loudly and triumphantly.

Zatanna cocked an amused eyebrow at her. "Be more specific, we have a lot of magic cabinets."

Mikey's replying smirk was slow and insidious. "I'm thinking of _The_ magic cabinet."

At first Zatanna still felt confused. She had more magic cabinets than she knew what to do with. Hell, pretty much every cabinet she owned was magical in some way, whether it was trick doors, fake walls or ones that transported the occupant to other... _Shit!_

"No way!" Zatanna said emphatically. "Absolutely not. You do remember what happened last time we used that cabinet, don't you?"

"We lost our audience volunteer." Mikey had traded the smirk for a grin that made her look a little bit more than crazy, as though she'd taken some sort of sick pleasure from losing some poor unsuspecting man in an entirely different plane of existence. "You found him again though. It all worked out in the end."

"Not the point. I had to take him for dinner and pay him off. I thought he was gonna sue the pants off of me."

Mikey gave her a sly look. "From what I hear he didn't have to sue you to get your pants off."

"Shut it, Mikey," Zatanna said in mock-anger, and then she grinned. "He was pretty nice. And he was ever so grateful to me for saving him, and he really did just want to thank me for such a nice dinner."

"Of course you had to show him just how sorry you were about what happened to him."

"Of course." They both laughed softly at the memory. Really, the man had just been so relieved that Zatanna had found him that the dinner had seemed unnecessary, as had the money she'd paid him. But it hadn't hurt to slip a mild enchantment on the money to ease his mind, to help him get through his memories of being momentarily stuck in a different plain of existence that was inhabited by beings that looked as though they had no right to exist. The enchantment also soothed any feelings of anger he might have had towards her; it was a dirty, sneaky thing to do, but then she didn't need him creating a fuss and suing her.

"So!" Zatanna clapped her hands together. "The plan is to finish with the gallows, unless you can think of something better. You get that set up; I'm going back to the hotel."

"Lucky me," Mikey muttered, tipping her hat back and eyeing the small stage. "You enjoy your relaxing evenin' and I'll be here doin' all the hard work."

"Sounds about right."

"Enjoy yourself, boss." Mikey waved Zatanna off as she made her way towards the stage, wood and hammer in hand.

/\/\/\

The street outside the theatre was covered in snow. It had been pure white when Zatanna had entered the theatre over three hours ago, but now the traffic and the inhabitants of Gotham had turned it to grey slush.

Sighing, Zatanna pulled the collar of her coat up and stuffed her hands in her pockets. It was already dark despite it only being early afternoon. If offering advice Zatanna would say that no one should walk the streets of Gotham when it was dark, especially a woman, really it was just asking for trouble. But if you didn't go out when it was dark then you'd probably never leave your home. Gotham only seemed to have a scant few hours of daylight per day, and even then that was dull and muted. It was as though the darkness of the city swallowed the light. She had found that it did that to people too. It took everything that was good about them and twisted it. It was why, despite owning a rather splendid home here, she spent less and less of her time in Gotham. She especially wanted to avoid her mansion; her large and very empty mansion; much better to spend her time in a hotel. A warm and bright – or as bright as Gotham ever got – hotel, filled with lots of lovely people. Most of who were not Gothamites and therefore not dead inside.

She hurried across the road, nearly slipped on an icy patch, and headed up the street to her hotel. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and bored young rich people with entirely too much time on their hands were milling around outside. Gotham seemed to attract a certain type of the young and rich, the reckless thrill seekers who had decided that jumping out of planes was not adventurous enough. They flocked to Gotham in the hopes of seeing something particularly twisted, or at the very least to see a glimpse of the Batman. They never did of course, but that wouldn't stop them from fabricating a whole story out of their time here. She smirked at that thought and squeezed her way through the crowd. "'Scuse me."

"Whoa! Hey!" A voice called and someone grabbed her by the arm and swung her round. She tensed and a spell was on the tip of her tongue ready to blast who ever his was into a whole other dimension. "Ain't you the magician?" A young face came into view, a man though pretty enough to be a girl with large, bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair that fell over them.

"I'm sorry?" she said. She relaxed ever so slightly since there was probably no threat near, but she kept the spell in mind since this was Gotham and everyone here was crazy in one form or another.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "You're that Mistress of Magic, right? Zantanna?"

It took some form of extreme self control to not punch him out for that. Why the hell could no one ever get her name right? It wasn't that difficult. "No, I'm not. Sorry, you're mistaken."

He frowned and it suddenly occurred to her that he was actually quite cute; possibly too pretty and almost certainly too young for her, but cute nonetheless. "You sure? You look like her."

She opened her mouth to reply, half-tempted to come clean and try her luck with him; it would be nice to have some company for the night, but common sense prevailed and she shook her head. "I'm pretty sure I'm not a magician. Sorry to disappoint."

He looked a little sheepish now and rubbed at the back of his neck. "What about a superhero?"

Oh my, was he hitting in her? It was very tempting now to take him upstairs to her room and ruin him. "I'm definitely not one of those." She meant every word. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's cold out here." She moved past him and towards the hotels entrance.

"I'm Carson," he called after her. She stopped and turned. He shrugged. "In case you were wondering and in case I see you again."

Because he was cute she smiled at him. "I'm here all week. Maybe you'll see me around."

He smiled and she turned her back on him, heading inside the hotel and sweet, wonderful warmth.

The foyer was bustling with people, all of whom she ignored as she made her way to reception, her heels clicking on the polished tiles. She had just made it to the desk, her mouth open to speak when she heard a familiar voice.

"Zee!"

She turned, feeling slightly surprised, and was pulled into a one armed hug that lifted her off the ground and likely cricked a few ribs.

"Bruce!" she complained loudly, pushing herself away from him. He only grinned at her. "Warn me next time. I didn't know what the hell was going on."

She didn't think she would ever get used to seeing him like this, so unlike the real him. Bruce Wayne stood proud and tall, wearing a very expensive looking suit, half-smiling, half-leering at her with a glass of what smelled like scotch in hand. His hair was tousled and there was a rosy cast to his cheeks, he looked drunk but she knew better. A thin pink line leading from his bottom lip, a healing scar, was the only hint to his truer and darker side.

From behind him two disgruntled gentlemen appeared. The older of the two wiped at his bald head with a handkerchief. "My Wayne," he said disapprovingly, "was that really necessary?"

"Hmm?" Bruce turned to them, looking as though he'd completely forgotten that he had company. "Oh, I'm sorry Matthew, Alistair. Let me introduce my friend, this is – "

"Zatanna Zatara." The younger man stepped forward and held out his hand. "Alistair Hopkins."

She shook his hand and offered a friendly smile. Two cute guys in one day, things were looking up.

Bruce cleared his throat and Zatanna dropped Alistair's hand, only just realising that she had probably held onto it for too long. "Alistair and his father were just showing me around this place," Bruce explained, gesturing grandly with his glass of scotch. "Matthew here is the owner."

Matthew looked quite smug about it for some reason. "This is my first hotel in Gotham," he said proudly. "I have one in Metropolis, Central City, Washington..." he reeled off several more cities that Zatanna didn't care to listen to, her eyes were lingering on Alistair. He kept glancing at her too, a smile twitching his lips. He didn't seem at all deterred by the fact that Bruce had an arm casually draped across her shoulders.

"Fascinating!" Bruce said loudly, cutting off whatever it was that Matthew Hopkins was babbling about.

Matthew looked affronted but Alistair just smiled. "So Miss Zatara, are you visiting Gotham for business or pleasure?"

"People visit Gotham for pleasure?" she said innocently. Alistair laughed, Matthew looked annoyed and Bruce chuckled but gave her shoulders a tight squeeze. A warning. No bad mouthing his city. "I'm doing a show this weekend," she explained.

"You are?" Bruce said sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yes, Bruce, the Wayne Foundation is one of the charities involved in it."

He blinked. "It is?"

Matthew groaned and Alistair looked embarrassed. Zatanna had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. How did he manage to sound and look so utterly clueless? She thought that he might actually be the best actor that ever lived. It was like he turned off a light in his head and all the intelligence and cunning that she could usually see glimmering in his eyes disappeared.

"Yes Bruce," she said managing to sound suitably patient, as though she was used to dealing with an air-headed friend. "So you'd better be there." She jabbed her finger at his chest in playful warning. She sincerely hoped that he would be there, if only because he made such a good volunteer for tricks that she really shouldn't use a volunteer for. "I've had a long, hard day gentlemen and while it's been an absolute pleasure to meet you, I'm afraid I have to be going."

"Good thinking, Zee." Bruce downed his drink in a single gulp and forced the empty glass into Matthew Hopkins' hand. "An early night it is." He managed to make it sound very suggestive and before Zatanna could say anything he had grabbed her by the hips and steered her to reception, trapping her against the desk with his body. She could hear the shocked gasps and scandalised mutters of those nearby. His lips were brushing against her ear. "Don't react," he ordered.

She nodded and quickly got the key card for her room.

"Elizabeth Montgomery? Really?" he actually sounded amused by her choice of fake ID, real amused not the pretend amused he had been earlier. He pulled her towards the elevators, yelling a cheerful good-bye to the Hopkins, both of whom looked equal amounts of shocked and confused.

They weren't alone in the elevator and Bruce stood entirely too close to her. It occurred to her that she probably looked very uncomfortable with him looming over her and that him dragging her, looking mildly terrified to a hotel room would probably damage his playboy image and make him look more like a sexual predator. Oh well, a little bit of darkness to go with the fun. This was Gotham after all.

He stayed close to her, pressed against her back, until they were inside her room and the door was shut. His hands were still on her hips, they felt sturdy and secure and he felt warm behind her. "Cameras?"

She shook her head. "I checked; there aren't any. I've also put up magical wards."

He grunted, never one to trust magic, and moved away from her.

"What's going on Bruce?"

"Why'd you pick this hotel?" he asked. His voice sounded lower, losing all of its false cheer but oddly sounding warmer for it.

"Because it's close to the theatre," she replied.

"That's all?"

"No, I picked it because it was built on a magical nexus and sleeping here makes me tingle all over." She rolled her eyes. "My manager suggested it. The theatre is just down the street."

"You have a house here, why not stay there?"

"Because it's been empty for months and I didn't want to be stuck on my own. What's going on?"

He nodded, probably ignoring her question, and cast a glance around the room. "Wards?"

"No one can hear or see us." She drew a cross over her chest with her finger. "Promise."

"Take us to the cave."

"And then you'll explain why you're acting more bat-shit than usual?"

"Promise."

It almost looked as though he was smiling.

/\/\/\

The Bat Cave was, of course, cold. Zatanna didn't understand how Bruce could stand it. She had seen him walk around the cave topless and without shoes (though never pantless, which was, she had to admit, somewhat disappointing) and he had barely shivered. She was fully clothed and wearing a long, thick coat and she felt chilled to the bone.

Bruce moved swiftly to the main console and Zatanna followed.

No matter how many times she visited the Bat Cave she always felt awed. She had been inside the Fortress of Solitude and seen the galactic wide wonders it contained, and she had walked through the temples of Paradise Island with its lush architecture and rich history, and she still thought that the Batcave was more magnificent than both. She always noticed something new and different whenever she came here. It was a tribute, a shrine, to how great Bruce – the Batman – really was. And it was a constant reminder to the darkness within him.

"The giant penny is still my favourite," she said smiling at him. He didn't smile back, but then she hadn't expected him to. "So then," she said, "what's going on? I assume magic's involved somehow."

"It's a possibility." His fingers flew along the keyboard, too fast for her to follow. "You haven't heard – "

"Any rumblings on the magical plane? 'fraid not." She craned her neck back and looked to the giant screen. "Gotham's old and really it should be rich with magical energies, and there are hints of something deeper, something dark, but it's not really known as a meeting point for people like me. It's not the most welcoming of places for us." Bruce didn't react, as though he didn't realise that he was a huge reason why Gotham was such an unwelcoming place for magical beings. With a slight shrug Zatanna continued, "No one comes here to feed off the magical energies. Probably because it's so sinister, so..." she trailed off and repressed a shudder. How could she explain it to Bruce, someone who only half believed in magic and made no attempt to understand it? She could feel the corruption, the evil, within Gotham emanating from every stone; every road, every building had that same feeling of wrongness to it. "Gotham is not a fun place for people like me."

"And yet you own a house here," he pointed out.

"My dad bought that. If I had an ounce of sense I'd sell it." And then she would have less of an excuse to see Bruce. "All I'm saying is that few magical beings come to Gotham for a visit, never mind to try to stir up – oh!"

"This picture was taken at a crime scene just two nights ago. The actual murder was approximately seventy-eight hours ago."

Zatanna's hand covered her mouth, she felt sick. The screen showed multiple images of the same crime scene; different angles and close-ups. It was a room, a basement from what she could tell; an altar was set-up in the middle of the room. Spread naked across the altar was a young girl, her blonde hair had been roughly hacked away and spread around her; deep gouges covered her arms and legs, and her eye lids had been cut away, her sightless eyes stared up at nothing. That wasn't the worst, or most gruesome, part though. Whoever had done this, whichever sick bastard it was, had opened the girl up from groin to sternum. The flesh and muscle was peeled back revealing the mess of organs within.

"This is Abigail Williams. Thirteen years old. She went missing just over a week ago." Bruce's voice was emotionless; cold and professional, revealing nothing of what he might be feeling.

Zatanna turned away from the screen, not at all caring what Bruce might think of her inability to stomach such a disgusting scene.

"What do you make of it?"

"That there are some seriously twisted people in this world!" And that a large percentage of them were in Gotham.

"Zatanna." His voice was so calm that it infuriated her and she turned to face him, her anger showing in her expression, but because he was Bruce he just ignored her. "I need you to focus. I know it's difficult but I need your help. I will catch who did this."

Asking for help was still a new concept for him, and the fact that he was asking for her help made her push her anger at him aside. She exhaled. "You'd better." Steeling herself, she looked again at the screen. "Anything in particular I'm looking for?"

"Anything that might help."

Well that was specific. Forcing her gaze away from the girl – Abigail – Zatanna took in the room around the body. "The altar would suggest a ritual sacrifice," she said.

Bruce nodded in agreement. "As would some of the objects found in the room." His fingers tapped at the keyboard and several images appeared on the screen. "A chalice, three candles and a crude carving of what looks to be a demon. I haven't been able to determine which demon it might be."

"What kind of wood is it carved from?"

"It's not. It's carved from resin."

"Well that's not going to do any good," Zatanna muttered. "Won't be able to summon many demons with resin moulds."

"You think this was an attempted summoning?"

"It's possible," Zatanna admitted. "The altar... The sacrifice... But apart from that they're going about it in the complete wrong way. It's probably just a couple of whackos playing around than anyone with any real power. Still, it's better to know for sure. Any chance you have one of the items?"

"No, the police have them."

Zatanna stared at him in disbelief. "Seriously? You're actually going to let the GCPD do their jobs?"

"I've already learned what I needed from the objects. No finger prints, no traces of DNA. They were clean."

"And only then you let the police have them. Some would call that tampering with the evidence." He shot her a look and she held her hands up in a placating manner and said, "Not me though." Of course he wouldn't see it that way. Zatanna thought that sometimes Batman felt like the police tampered with his evidence. Which might be a fair point, Gotham had more than its fair share of bent cops. "If I had one of the items I could probably tell if it had any magical properties."

"What about the room?"

"Huh?" Zatanna stared at him. Bruce was looking at the screen, his brow furrowed in thought.

"If we went to the scene, could you tell if magic had been cast?"

"Possibly."

"Yes or no?"

Zatanna sighed. "Yeah, yeah I could do that." She didn't explain to him that it would depend on the kind of magic involved, that if it was a being more powerful than her – and there were many – than all that she would do was alert them to their presence or even that she might not able to discern what kind of magic was involved, if any. The longer she was here the less she was speaking to Bruce and the more to Batman, and Batman didn't want to hear her excuses.

"It's settled." Bruce turned from the console and stalked into the shadows of the Batcave, no doubt going to suit up.

Zatanna sighed again. To think she had been planning on spending her evening in the bath with a bottle of Merlot and a good book. "Oh well. _Krow sehtolc!_" Mist swirled around her and a second later she was dressed in her stage outfit, top hat in hand. She twirled it in her fingers, smiled and then donned the hat that had once been her father's. She turned around only to find Batman already suited up and waiting for her. How the hell had he got dressed so quickly?

"Let's go." He turned from her and walked towards the Batmobile, his cape billowing out dramatically behind him.

"Wait! Wouldn't it be quicker if I teleported us there?"

He stopped, turned and gave her a hard stare. At least she thought that it was a hard stare, it was difficult to tell given that half of his face was covered. But with Batman it was always safe to presume that he was giving you a hard stare and that it was probably the only kind of stare he was capable of giving.

Without saying a word Batman swept around and stalked towards the Batmobile. Sighing for the third time in less than five minutes, Zatanna followed after him, definitely not mentioning that he was a hypocrite for disallowing her using magic to transport them.

/\/\/\

The Bat mobile was a surprisingly comfortable ride. Zatanna still would have preferred teleporting to the crime scene, but she understood Batman's distrust of magic, especially her magic. Besides, this gave him time to fill her in on what he'd learned about the murder.

Abigail Williams, thirteen years old, had disappeared a week ago while walking home from school. Her best friend, Mercy Lewis, had been the last to see her. Her parents, not taking any risks since this was Gotham, reported her missing to the police when Abigail had failed to return home by early evening. The police had waited twenty-four hours before even considering confirming her as missing. There was CCTV footage of Abigail and Mercy entering a store and buying candy and soda, then they went their separate ways. The last image of Abigail alive was her turning a corner. The next CCTV camera, located down the road from said corner, hadn't picked her up. She had never made it down the street. She had disappeared from a busy place, teeming with people, in broad daylight – or as close to daylight as Gotham ever got. Her body had been discovered by a group of skater kids looking for somewhere to shoot a video of themselves.

"Why is it that bad people never seem to get murdered?" Zatanna wondered aloud. She looked down at the Wayne-tech pad in her hands and the image of Abigail; it looked to be a fairly recent school photograph. There were numerous extracts from the press and Zatanna was reading the statements from Abigail's teachers and friends. "Bubbly, friendly, popular and top of her class; no one is ever described as a loser and a waste of space, or a complete dick. Only nice people ever seem to be murdered."

"Would it make it easier for you if she had been a bad person?"

"No, probably not," Zatanna replied. "It'd just have given me a sense of balance. That bad things happen to bad people. Even then," she shrugged, "it wouldn't change the fact that a thirteen year old kid had been brutally murdered."

"We're here."

Zatanna turned the pad off as the Bat mobile slowed to a stop.

They were in one of the worse parts of Gotham, which was really saying something. Most of the buildings were abandoned and derelict, looking as though they might fall down at any second. The building they were looking at was grey, dirty and clearly deserted; the windows and doors were covered with wooden boards and police tape surrounded the area.

Batman, naturally, ignored the police tape. He pulled it aside as he made his way to the building. "This area has mostly been left alone since No Man's Land. The buildings were deemed unsafe but have yet to be demolished," he explained his breath misting in the cold air.

Zatanna nodded and followed him, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt about No Man's Land. Gotham had never really been her home, just one of those places she occasionally visited, but that didn't mean that she shouldn't have done something to help. As it was, she had placed magical wards around her house here and then left Gotham to it. The fact that so many others had done similar things (admittedly without the magic) did nothing to ease her conscience.

There was a side door to the building; the wooden boards that had covered it had been pried away and discarded, they now lay several feel away on the ground in the snow. Batman removed the police warning tape and opened the door, stepping inside and disappearing into the darkness. Zatanna followed him. She couldn't see a thing. The dim light from outside did nothing to illuminate the inside of the building.

"_Erehps fo thgil,_" she uttered holding her hand up. She felt warmth spread up her arm and pool in the palm of her upturned hand as an orb of light grew in the air. "What?" she demanded as Batman stared at her. "You might have bat-night-vision in that cowl, but I don't."

He stalked down the long corridor that led from the door. Zatanna rolled her eyes and trailed after him. The corridor was a mess of old newspapers and cardboard boxes in various states of decay. The place smelt of damp and the cold seemed to seep into Zatanna's bones. The only sound was her footsteps falling softly against the cracked floor.

Batman led her deep into the building, and the further they went the more uneasy Zatanna felt. There was something very wrong here. She tried to tell herself that it was just her trepidation at seeing the crime scene, but she knew that it wasn't. Her growing sense of dread was more than her own fear. It permeated the air in the whole building.

"Here," Batman said softly. They had stopped by a closed door and he turned to her. "Ready?"

"Of course I am," she replied, feeling slightly annoyed by his attempted to protect and coddle her. He opened the door, revealing a narrow staircase that led down into the darkness. "Wonderful," Zatanna muttered. She sent the orb of light down so that she'd be able to see where she was going. Her heels tapped quietly against the stone steps as she descended the stairs. Batman didn't make any noise as he followed. She could barely even feel his presence behind her.

She cleared her throat, the noise sounding far too loud. "So will you be coming to my show?"

"Excuse me?" His voice was low and hard, a growl that was intended to remind her that she was with Batman and not Bruce Wayne.

"I can't decide what trick to end the show with. It's driving Mikey crazy." Batman didn't even grunt, so Zatanna continued, "I wanted to do the Doubles trick. It makes it look like there's a whole other me on the stage, and, y'know, I interact with my double. When I get to the end of the trick the double disappears, but I've switched places with the double and so it looks like the 'real' Zatanna has disappeared." She sighed theatrically. "But the stage isn't big enough for the trick and so now I need to think of something different."

He was silent and Zatanna thought that he was ignoring her, which was just so like him, and then he surprised her. "Go with something simple."

She was so astounded by his reply that she nearly tripped. He grabbed her arm and stopped her from toppling down the stone steps and making one hell of a mess of herself. She straightened up and smiled back over her shoulder at him. "Simple, huh? I can do this neat little trick with a rope." She continued on down the stairs, being a little bit more careful this time. "I cut a rope in half, and then I tie both bits together in a knot, pull on it and – abracadabra – it's whole again!"

"Just like magic."

"Exactly." She was grinning now, thoroughly pleased that he had joined in the conversation. It never hurt to occasionally remind Batman that he was human.

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs and Batman once again took the lead. Another long dark corridor and once more Zatanna was hit with the feeling of wrongness, or dread and something else she couldn't put into words. She was actually scared. Not that she was ever going to admit that to Batman, but it was certainly okay for her to acknowledge the fact for herself. She pushed those feelings aside and walked on, staying close to Batman, but giving him enough space in case he needed it. They reached the door at the end of the corridor; it was metal and heavy looking, and Batman opened it, quickly stepping through with Zatanna on his heels. She sent the orb of light to the centre of the room and made it brighter, banishing the darkness and illuminating the room.

Zatanna gagged and covered her nose and mouth with her gloved hand. The air smelt of blood, guts and shit. The taste of it coated the back of her throat and her stomach heaved. Despite the fact that the police and forensics had been through the room and stripped the scene bare, it still looked shockingly similar to the pictures Zatanna had looked at previously. The make-shift altar was still there, discoloured with Abigail's blood and other stains that Zatanna didn't at all want to think about. The floor was similarly stained; the blood must have run form the altar to pool on the ground.

"I'd have thought that they'd have cleaned the place by now," she muttered.

"Is there anything you need?" Batman asked, ignoring her complaints.

She shook her head and moved around the room. "Just time," she told him as she examined what little fixtures were in the room. Whoever had used it had cleared it of trash. There some folded chairs propped against the wall, but nothing much else apart from the altar. She moved to it and waited, listening to the room and trying to feel what was there. "There is something here. Its faint, but it's there, but then it might just be Gotham itself." She placed her hand on the altar; the dried blood flaked beneath her touch ruining her pristine white gloves. She closed her eyes. She could feel something weighing on her, the same feeling from before but stronger. But she couldn't sense any magic in the altar itself, nor could she tell if any magic had been cast recently in the room.

Sighing impatiently, she opened her eyes to find Batman looming over her. "Well?" he demanded.

"Not much. There is something, but I'm not sure what it is."

"This was a waste of time," he growled. He spun on his heel and made for the exit.

"I'm told that patience is a virtue," Zatanna said. She hopped up on to the altar.

"What are you –"

"Shush." She sat down cross-legged, straightening her back. "I need to concentrate." She placed her hands on her knees and closed her eyes. She emptied her mind of thoughts; of her own annoyance and fears, of Bruce's doubts in her abilities, her disgust at this room and she let the wrongness seep into her and the darkness swirl around her. There was something there, something so very far away and she reached for it.

"_Wohs em tahw deneppah, wohs em tahw deneppah, wohs em tahw deneppah..._"

She was slipping away, away from Batman, away from herself, away...

"_Wohs em!_"

She opened her eyes.

/\/\/\

**Thanks for reading, please leave a review on your way out an let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Kill The Lights_

_Chapter Two_

Zatanna fell through darkness.

She had done this many times before; left her body behind and allowed her spirit to wander; to see the things a flesh and blood body was incapable of seeing. It didn't matter how many times she had done it though, she never got used the sensation. The lurching feel of the sudden drop, her stomach feeling as though it had shifted up to join her lungs in her chest, and her lungs then going up to her throat. The closest thing she could compare it to was the feeling of falling in a dream, the sudden drop when you were half-asleep. Supposedly if you hit the bottom you died. Zatanna knew better than that though; she knew that if you hit the bottom then something worse was waiting for you and death would be a comfort. She knew dreams all too well.

And that's exactly what this was – a dream. A memory to be exact, but it amounted to the same thing.

Zatanna exhaled. Her fall slowed to a stop and the room came into focus. Or as much into clear focus as it was likely to get. It was distorted, like viewing her surroundings through running water, all the lines were bent and the colours blurred into one another.

The sound was wrong too. Like the inhabitants of the room were speaking over one another and were inside a large, empty cathedral; the echoes never seemed to end.

"Terrible acoustics," she muttered. She was hovering half-a-foot from the ground. She stepped down, her feet not making a sound on the old stone floor despite the hard heels of her boots. The flagstone beneath her feet lit up, glowing a pale blue. "_Tcetorp em._"

Her skin felt cold rather than warm as the blue light surrounded her, encasing her in a protective shell. She rolled her shoulders back, steeling herself, and then turned around to inspect the room.

It was an indecipherable mess, a blur of images and sounds that bled into one another. Too many people had been in the room and had left an imprint behind, a shadow of their memory. She saw janitors piling tables and chairs, teenagers hiding and laughing, junkies shivering, and those left behind during No Man's Land, starving and freezing to death, huddled close together. But she couldn't see what she was looking for.

She stepped forward, lighting up the next flagstone beneath her feet, and called out, "Abigail?"

The girl wouldn't be able to hear her. This was a dream after all, fragments of too many broken memories roughly cobbled together, but it was a way for Zatanna to anchor herself. It would be so very easy to become lost in the memories. By speaking aloud Zatanna reminded herself that she was only a visitor and that she had a purpose for being here.

She called out Abigail's name again and the images before her flickered and jumped, like an old projector running out of reel.

A blur of red caught her eye and she turned to it, focussing on it. A high terrified scream cut through all the other sounds and Zatanna reached for it. She'd know that sound anywhere, had heard it too many times, occasionally from her own mouth - the sound of someone who knows that they are going to die.

She pulled herself towards the sound, leaving all the other memories untouched.

The room shifted, changed; the junkies, kids and all those other images that didn't matter faded away. In their place sprouted other images: a wall of figures clad in red robes, hoods pulled up and their faces obscured in darkness. Skeletal hands protruded from the robes, clutching burning candles without holders, the hot wax dripping over their withered skin. Zatanna's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't at all what she had been expecting. In the centre of the room was the altar, four candles set at its corners held in place with melted wax. (Why hadn't there been any wax left over on the altar when she and Batman had inspected it?) The altar looked like a tomb and Zatanna half-expected it to be filled with bodies, carelessly squashed in with no care to all that meat having once been alive.

Time acted differently here. Some of the robed figures moved slowly, fading into after images left floating in the after them. Others moved fast, in jerky movements leaving stark snapshots of their previous position for a second and then fading away.

It was in this odd jerking, jumping movement that Zatanna watched Abigail be dragged out by two hooded figures. The girl fought, Zatanna had to give her credit for that, she put up one hell of a fight for a skinny thirteen year old girl. So many others would have just collapsed under the weight of knowing what was going to happen to them, giving into despair and just waiting for the end. The sight of the child fighting so hard made Zatanna's chest ache. She pushed the feeling away, it wouldn't do any good to get emotional. If she got upset she might lose her tether to this memory, and she needed to see this, to try and see who these bastards were.

Abigail was screaming and crying, her voice broken and raw. Zatanna could hear her clearly over the soft chanting of the hooded figures, their voices echoing and blurring into one long indecipherable drone.

Abigail was on the altar now, being held down by four figures. Another two stood by her head; one of them held a wickedly sharp knife and Zatanna's stomach churned. She really didn't want to see this. She forced herself to watch, her eyes trained on the second man by Abigail's head. He held two objects in his bone hands, one she recognised immediately: the resin carving of a demon, a useless trinket. The second object was much more interesting. It looked to be made from gold, a beautifully carved figurine of a weeping woman.

Something stirred in Zatanna's memory. The weeping woman... This wasn't a demon summoning, it wasn't even a murder made to look like a summoning. This was something completely different.

Zatanna moved closer, ignoring Abigail's whimpers and now feeble attempts to escape; all the fight had drained out of her. The man with the knife was stroking the girl's hair. Zatanna studied him. A silver medallion was hung around his neck on a thick heavy chain; it was stark against the scarlet robes he was wearing. The medallion was inlaid with leaves around its edges, and it showed an angel striking down from heaven with a lightning bolt in hand, ready to slay a demon that was surrounded by hellfire.

"Shit," she gasped, recognising the design on the medallion.

"_Help... me..."_

Zatanna looked down to Abigail and then staggered back in shock. The girl was looking right at her, her green eyes filled with tears and pleading. _"Please. Help me."_

"I... I..." This wasn't possible. This was a memory. A dream. There was no way; absolutely no way that Abigail could see Zatanna. It was impossible.

"_Why are you just standing there?" _Abigail cried, her voice seemingly coming from all angles, breaking through the echoed chants of her assailants, louder than before and hoarse from the screaming and filled with terror. _"Help me!"_

"I can't..."

"_Help me!" _Abigail threw off one of the robed figures, freeing her arm and she sat up. She was crying, her tears were blood red and streaked down her face, terrible against the paleness of her skin. She was staring at Zatanna, and she flung her hand out towards her. _"Save me!"_

And then it was quiet. Too quiet in the wake of Abigail's pleads. All Zatanna could hear was her own breathing, heavy and rapid, betraying her own fear. And then the shuffle of fabric as every robed figure in the room turned as one and looked right at her.

"And our final player makers her grand appearance," the one with the knife spoke, his voice soft.

"This is a dream," Zatanna said, shaking her head. "A memory. You can't see me."

Hands clutched at her shoulders from behind and Zatanna bit back a scream. She pushed herself away from the unseen assailant, staggered and nearly fell. Their skeletal hands raised, the hooded figures glided towards her.

All of her breath had gone out of her. Her heart felt like it had been encased in ice and her throat was tight. This was a dream.

A memory.

It wasn't real.

They could _not_ hurt her.

The protective light that encapsulated her winked out.

They swarmed around her, pulling at her clothes, her hair, their bony fingers pressing painfully into her flesh and raking her skin.

"No... No..." she couldn't breathe properly. She was being pulled down into cold liquid, into an inky black depth. _"Tcetorp em... Tcetorp em... Tcetorp em!"_

She could hear Abigail screaming, a high and thin noise that was frightening in its tragic intensity. She could hear, almost feel, the moment when the blood bubbled up the girl's throat and gurgled through her mouth, cutting off her scream. And someone was pushing Zatanna down, even as she fought feebly against them. She struggled against the hands that held her, against the thick liquid black that she was sinking into. Someone was laughing. Someone else was screaming again. A hand pushed down on Zatanna's face, blotting out her view of the memory, pushing her ever further down.

"Zatanna!"

Down and down she went. Her vision blurred and she opened her mouth to scream, and the foul tasting darkness filled it and her nose, choking her.

"Zatanna!" The voice, she recognised that voice! It was deep and gruff, a growl that made her feel secure and safe and deeply afraid all at once.

Strong hands had a hold of her shoulders and she was being pulled, or pushed she wasn't sure which, out of the depths.

"Zee?" That voice again. She reached for him, for the safety he provided. "That's it Zee... That's it. You're okay."

She coughed. A sharp pain lanced through her body and she convulsed.

"You're going to be fine."

She opened her eyes. She was lying on her side on the hard cold, and very dirty, surface of the floor. Her hip bone ached and was probably bruised. She coughed again and a spasm wracked her body, bouncing her hip off of the floor and making her wince. She could taste bile at the back of her mouth and her throat felt raw. There was only a single pair of hands on her, one on her shoulder and the other laying flat against her back, reassuring and strong.

"You still with me?" There was warmth and almost a little humour in Bruce's voice.

Zatanna pushed herself up, shaking. "You can't... Can't get rid... rid..." A coughing fit cut her off.

"Can't get rid of you that easily?"

"Exactly," she croaked. She looked over to the dark looming figure of the Batman crouched over her. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and downturned at the corners. She could still see the faint pink, nearly healed scar that marred his lips. She had the sudden and absurd urge to kiss it.

"What happened?" She asked, forcing thoughts of kissing from her mind. This was definitely not the time for things like that and he was definitely not the man for things like that.

Batman grunted before replying, "I was hoping you could tell me. One moment you were meditating – floating – the next you were having some kind of fit."

"Right." She pressed her face into her hand. She could feel how warm and feverish her skin felt through the fabric of her glove. "I think I got some answers." Batman helped her to her feet, and she leaned into him for support, still feeling a little shaky.

"Do you know who did this?" he asked.

"Not exactly. Look..." She frowned. "Where's my hat?" She'd only just noticed that it wasn't on her head.

Batman stooped down and picked it up from the floor. It must have fallen off when she was fitting. He handed it back to her wordlessly and she thanked him, dusting it off before settling it reassuringly on her head. She took a couple of steady breaths before continuing.

"I think we got some things wrong about this murder. I think that Abigail Williams was Homo-magi and that's why she was killed."

"Were the perpetrators also Homo-magi?"

"I don't think so." Zatanna turned to the altar and patted it with her hand. "We're gonna need to bring this to the Batcave."

"Why?"

"Because, that's why. Show a little trust Batman." She could almost feel him scowling at her.

"Then teleport it there," he growled. He was clearly beginning to get annoyed with her.

"No way," Zatanna replied. "After what I just did, I'm not going to do any magic until I've had a cup of tea and something to eat." She considered this a moment, wrinkling her nose. "And perhaps a quick nap."

She went to leave, but Batman grabbed her arm. "What happened, Zee?"

She swallowed. She should have known better, there was no way Batman was going to fall for her facade and believe that she was alright. Her breath was shaky and she had to swallow before speaking. "Magic stuff happened." He didn't look at all placated, and his grip on her arm tightened almost painfully. She winced and quietly said, "I'll explain when we're back at the Batcave."

"Fine." He dropped her arm and turned from her, facing towards the altar. No doubt he had some kind of gadget in that utility belt of his that would help here.

/\/\/\

Sometimes Zatanna was convinced that Alfred Pennyworth had a little Homo-magi about himself, and this was one of those times. When they pulled into the Batcave and Zatanna climbed out of the Batmobile, Alfred was waiting for them with a tray that had a steaming pot of tea on it.

"Miss Zatanna, Master Bruce," he greeted amiably, inclining his head. "I trust that you both had an enjoyable evening."

"Thrilling," Zatanna said only having to slightly force some cheer into her voice. She was always happy to see Alfred. She made her way over to him.

"Tea?" He proffered the tray to her and she selected an already filled china cup. "There's plenty more in the pot if you want a refill.

"Ooh, cookies," Zatanna exclaimed snatching one up from the small plate that was overloaded with the delicious homemade treats. She couldn't help but notice that the mug meant for Bruce was filled with hot chocolate and had mini marshmallows floating in it. She hid a smile behind a sip of tea. No one must know that Batman drank hot chocolate with marshmallows.

A loud thunk sounded from behind her and she turned around. Batman had unloaded the altar from the Batmobile and was now pushing it across the floor. Zatanna winced at the loud scraping, grinding, noise it made as he did so.

Batman stopped and stood up straight, he pulled his cowl off. His face was shiny with sweat from the brief exertion, and his hair was slicked back. He really was quite beautiful, with his strong jaw and piercing blue eyes. When she was younger, Zatanna had found him breath taking. She was older and wiser now, and knew much better than to fall into Bruce Wayne-Batman trap. Still, she smirked, that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the view.

"Where's Damian?" Bruce asked, losing the harsh Batman growl.

"Out with Master Richard," Alfred replied. He had set the tray down on a table next to the main console, and now he made his way over to the altar. He glanced down at the floor. "And I suppose those scratches in the floor will come out with a dash of lemon juice and a bit of elbow grease, Master Bruce?"

"Uh..." Bruce stared down at the floor as well.

"No matter, sir," Alfred said and then sighed theatrically. "I didn't have any plans this weekend anyway."

Feeling a little guilty, Zatanna sniggered into her tea. She didn't think she'd ever get sick of seeing Alfred backchat Bruce. Bruce was scowling and Alfred was looking as implacable as ever.

"If you'll excuse me, my presence is required elsewhere." Alfred turned to Zatanna and smiled. "It's nice to see you again Miss Zatanna, you're looking well," he said before turning and leaving.

Bruce crossed the cave and sat down in his chair, swivelling it around so that he faced Zatanna. There wasn't another chair and she was forced to stand.

She dipped her cookie into her tea and then bit off the dampened half. "Alfred makes the best cookies," she said. Bruce continued to stare at her. She sighed. "Alright, alright. _Riahc reappa." _A comfy looking armchair with a bright, floral print pattern appeared behind her, and she settles herself down into it with a relaxed sigh. She put her now empty cup in the air to her right and left it floating there.

Bruce's scowl intensified no doubt at her flagrant use of magic.

"What happened back there, Zatanna?" he asked his voice cold and business like.

She ignored his tone. It was rare that she was cowed by him these days. "Magic," she replied lightly.

His brow furrowed at her flippant tone.

"I accessed memories in an attempt to see the murderer," she explained.

"Memories? Whose?" he didn't seem at all surprised that she was able to do that.

"The room's memories, not a person's. Well," she scrunched up her nose as she reconsidered that. "Maybe several different someone would be more accurate. Objects, places, they can all absorb memories of the people who have touched them. Shadows of what's transpired."

"And you viewed these memories?"

"Yes. It's an exhausting piece of magic though, so don't ask me to do it again."

"I didn't ask you to do it in the first place." He sounded so damned serious. "Viewing the memories of objects? Not completely surprising that you can do that, you're always had a talent for playing with memories," he added bitterly, and Zatanna flinched.

"Low blow," she muttered.

"Was it?" Bruce's look was dark and Zatanna knew that they were on fragile ground with this particular subject. "What happened?"

Zatanna took her a deep breath. "I saw how Abigail died. And I think I might recognise who did it.

Bruce sat up straighter. "Who?"

"A cult who are, I think, dedicated to eradicating Homo-magi," she explained. "I don't know their name, but I recognised their robes and the medallion that the head loony was wearing."

"You've clearly come across them before."

She nodded. "A few months ago I was attacked after a show. The attackers were wearing the similar robes as the ones who killed Abigail. They shot me in the throat with a poisoned tipped bolt that left me unable to perform magic." Her hand went o her throat as she remembered the feeling of her flesh and skin tearing, blood oozing from between her fingers. "Thankfully I'm prepared for such situations. I managed to neutralise the poison with a potion I carry at all times, heal my throat and then take care of them."

IT was unfortunate that when she'd taken care of them she hadn't questioned them. Now sending them to the past seemed to have been a rash decision and could cost her here.

"Is this why you think that Abigail Williams was Homo-Magi?"

"Yes. They're witch-hunters, and they're sadists," she said. "When they attacked me they caught me by surprise. They could have just shot me in the heart, or the head, but they didn't. They wanted me to suffer."

"Or they wanted you alive to question."

"Still sadists."

Bruce stared at her. He was leaning back in his chair, his elbows resting on the sides, and his finger tips pressed together in a steeple. His blue-grey eyes were calm, but the more he stared directly at her, the more Zatanna felt uncomfortable and wished he would look away. Or at least blink. Did the man's eyeballs not get dry?

"Why did you have a seizure?" he asked eventually, sounding casually interested and one brow lifting slightly.

Zatanna rubbed at the back of her head feeling even more uncomfortable.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Something went wrong with the spell, I think. Or..." she exhaled, knowing that he wasn't going to like what she was going to suggest. "Or they left a trap for me. I think the altar was rigged with a magical booby-trap that was designed to disrupt my spell."

"So it was enchanted to disrupt any magic being used nearby? That's why you didn't teleport it back to the cave."

"Exactly." She nodded. It was weird hearing Bruce saying things like "enchanted" and "magic" like he actually believed in them. One day she was going to have to ask him how he wrapped his mind around the fact that one of his closest friends' was made from clay. "I wanted you to bring the altar back to that I could unravel the enchantment. Perhaps these witch hunters left a magical trail that I can follow."

She stood up and turned to her conjured arm chair, gesturing at it. _"Nruter!" _It disappeared in a poof of purple smoke.

Bruce stood up as well and followed Zatanna as she made her way to the altar. She placed her hand on top of it. "I'm going to need you to crack this baby open."

"You want me to break open a potentially dangerous magical artefact?" His voice was flat, but she thought she could hear a slightly disbelieving tone there, betraying his cool, calm exterior.

"Yep!" She said cheerfully. "And while you do that, I'm going to go to the Oblivion bar and see if I can get any info on these witch hunters. There are also some things I should pick up to help with the disenchantment of that thing." She stepped back from him and grinned. "Don't look so concerned, that things perfectly safe for you, it's me who should be worried about it. Just, y'know, don't be doing any hocus pocus round it. Speaking of which, I'm going to go upstairs to teleport out of here. Who knows what'll happen if I do it near that thing."

She left Bruce staring at the altar in grim annoyance, and made her way upstairs and into Wayne manor. And then she uttered the spell to transport her to the Oblivion bar. Maybe she'd get herself a stiff drink when she was there. She's probably earned it.

/\/\/\

Hours later, Zatanna teleported herself back to her hotel room.

She felt absolutely exhausted, and to make it worse she was also frustrated and disappointed. Her trip to the Oblivion bar had yielded little information, nothing she hadn't known already. To make it all worse when she had reported back to Batman he had responded in a typically gruff and annoyed manner, growling at her to get out and that he'd deal with her and the altar in the morning. He had then climbed in the Batmobile and sped away leaving her standing like an idiot with her mouth wide open in shock. Apparently, or so Alfred informed her, some sort of weapons deal involving the Penguin and some minor gangs was happening.

"Grouch," she muttered. While she could understand his need to go deal with the Penguin that was no excuse for speaking to her like that. There was no need for him to take his frustrations out on her.

She sighed and looked about the room. It was cast in shadows, thin tracts of iridescent light cut though the large window casting the room in moody blue tones.

Zatanna tossed her hat onto the arm chair that was sat in the corner of the room, and then made her way towards the bedroom. The only thing she wanted to do now was to crawl into bed and get some sleep. She kicked off her boots and collapsed down on the large, luxuriant bed, sinking into it, and not even bothering to get changed.

She was just drifting off when she sensed a presence in the room. Typical. She just couldn't catch a break. She pretended to be asleep, keeping her breathing deep and even. She listened to the intruder moving – quite stealthily she had to admit – around her room. They were close enough now that she could hear them breathing, soft and easy. She didn't even need to look to see where about they were. She readied a spell in her mind.

Zatanna sat up and turned quickly towards her would be assailant, her hand out towards them. _"Dnib me – "_

"Whoa! Wouldn't do that if I were you, boss!" A very familiar female voice said.

"Mikey?" Zatanna dropped her hand and squinted through the dark. She could just make out the outline of her friend, the god-awful baseball cap giving her away. "What are you doing?"

Mikey turned the rooms' lights on and Zatanna closed her eyes against the sudden brightness.

"I was checkin' up on you," Mikey replied. "When I finished up at Imaginarium I came here to find you, only you weren't here." Mikey shrugged. "Which isn't anything to worry about, but you were taking an awful long time and when I asked at the desk they said you took off with Bruce Wayne. Then I was worried."

Zatanna frowned. Mikey of course didn't know that Bruce was Batman. She, like so many others of Zatanna's stage crew, thought that Bruce was Zatanna's playboy, air-headed friend, which begged a question.

"Why were you worried?"

"Thought you might have done something stupid," Mikey explained. She sat down on the bed and kicked off her shows, and then shuffled to the middle of the mattress and sat cross-legged facing Zatanna.

"Stupid, like what?"

"Like sexin' up Bruce Wayne stupid."

Zatanna shoved Mikey with her foot. "I wouldn't do that. He's my friend. And you should really know me better."

"Sure, like the handsome strapping ones aren't your type." She smirked, not sounding at all convinced. "What were you doing all this time with him if not sexin' him up?"

"I wasn't with him," Zatanna answered. "We said 'hi', talked for a bit and then he left."

"Uh0huh."

"I'm serious! I was with Batman."

Now Mikey looked worried, though she tried to hide it behind humour. "Did you go get yourself tied up again?"

Zatanna grabbed her pillow and smacked Mikey with it, knocking her onto her back. She loomed over her, the pillow still in hand. "No. And I don't need Batman to untie me. I'm insulted that you'd even think that I'd need his help," she said sounding suitably mock-angry, still holding the pillow in a threatening manner over the prone Mikey. Zatanna grinned wickedly. "That's what I have you for."

Mikey chuckled. "Wondered why you kept me around." She propped herself up on her elbows. "So, what's batman want with you?"

Zatanna ran her hand through her hair, suddenly feeling a lot less cheerful. She could trust Mikey; she would trust Mikey with her life and had done on several occasions. So she had no qualms about informing her friend about the case. So she did. She explained about Abigail Williams's murder, and her attempts to use magic to find out what happened, the trap that was set and that she suspected that the murderers were the same group that had attacked her.

Mikey, unusually for her, listened in silence, only nodding occasionally.

"So Batman has the altar, he's busy fighting goons but is going to crack it in the morning, and I'm here attempting to get some sleep," Zatanna finished.

"Mmm," Mikey murmured looking thoughtful. "If these witch hunter types are here then you'd best be careful, boss."

"You don't think I already know that?"

"I don't think you get that their beef with you will be personal now." She rubbed at her chin, her thoughtful expression becoming more intense. She turned to Zatanna. "Look, the way I see it, and I think I get this because I'm enchanting –"

"You're enchanted, Mikey, not enchanting."

"Oi! I'm enchanting. And don't you forget it." She grinned. "My point is, boss, don't you think that the trap with the altar was set specifically for you?"

Zatanna paused. Mikey might actually have a point here.

"Enchantments are difficult, and they're usually focussed on something personal, no? Like specifically meant for something or someone individual rather than just being there for whoever stumbles on 'em. They're like... focussed magic, or somethin' like that."

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Zatanna muttered. "But yes, enchantments are usually tailored for a specific person. But not always." Zatanna crossed her legs and mimicked Mikey's earlier pose of stroking her chin. "If it was meant for me, and only me, then they'd need something of mine. An object that holds significant meaning to me; or blood, or skin, hair nails... Something of mine or something of me."

"Gee boss, it's almost as if they shot you with an arrow."

"Okay point," Zatanna said. "But it's too loose. They couldn't know that I's get involved in the case. I might have a house here, but it's not like I live here."

Mikey gave her a flat stare, and when she spoke her tone was bored. "Gee boss, it's not like they once booked a show for you to perform as a front just so that they could murder you."

Zatanna stared back at Mikey in horror as the crushing weight of realisation hit. And then she placed her hands in her face and let out a frustrated scream. "I am so fucking stupid!"

It was nearly the exact same way they'd trapped her before: a show booked for charity. Normally she would have been wary, especially after what they'd done last time, but since this was for the Wayne Foundation she'd trusted it blindly.

Mikey's thoughts were obviously following along the same line of logic. "Looks like they used the fact that you're buds with Wayne as a cover. They must have known that you'd give anything under the Wayne name a free pass."

"And then they murdered a girl and made it look like magic was involved to draw Batman's attention, knowing that he'd ask me to get involved." Zatanna stood up and began pacing the room, running her hand repeatedly through her hair. She felt frustrated, annoyed, and so angry with herself and...

"That poor girl," she whispered stopping her pacing. She put her face in her hands. "She was killed just to get my attention."

"You not gonna blame yourself for that, are you?" Mikey sounded concerned. "I know you super-types like to take guilt to exciting new levels, but there's no way that this was your fault."

Zatanna's throat felt raw. "No. I mean, I have to accept a portion of the blame, but I'm not going to completely blame myself. Still." She straightened up, swallowing the lump in her throat. She held her hand out and silently summoned her hat to her. It flew through the air form the adjacent room and she caught it, placing it smartly on her head.

"Where you going?"

"The Batcave. Batman needs to know about this."

"No way!" Mikey leapt from the bed and grabbed Zatanna by her shoulders. "Look I get it, you're all angry and stuff, but you can't just be going zooming off to the Batcave. Look at you, you're exhausted."

"Doesn't matter, I –"

"You gotta rest, that's what you've gotta do." Mikey pushed her back towards the bed. Sometimes Zatanna forget how strong Mikey actually was, she was easily able to force her to sit down. She stood, her hands still clasping Zatanna's shoulders, looking down on her. She looked worried, but determined. "That memory spell took a lot outta you. You go off and try to right these wrongs you're just going to burn yourself out. You'll be no good to anyone if you can't even do any magic."

Mikey understood that the energy to do magic came from Zatanna herself, and the more exhausted Zatanna was the less effective the spells would be. She also knew that it severely limited Zatanna's control over her magic and potentially any spell cast could be dangerous, not just to Zatanna but to those nearby as well.

Zatanna sighed, feeling herself deflate. The anger was still there, but it no longer burned at the surface of her being and instead simmered. "Okay," she said. "Sleep first, butt kicking later."

"Good call," Mikey said, smiling, she stepped back from Zatanna. "Oh, and I'm staying with you tonight. Just in case."

Zatanna couldn't be bothered to argue the point that Mikey probably wouldn't be much use against the witch hunters, so she nodded her agreement instead, and quickly magicked herself into her pyjamas. She crawled into the bed as Mikey turned the lights off.

She was still angry and upset about what they'd discovered. It didn't matter what Mikey said, a young girl had been cruelly killed just to get her attention, and that meant that a large amount of the blame rested on Zatanna's shoulders. She gritted her teeth. It made her want to find these bastards all the quicker, find them so that she could make them pay for what they'd done.

She felt the sheets shift as Mikey slid into the bed beside her.

"You wanna try relaxing? It's going to be a real uncomfortable night if you're gonna be all tense like that."

"Sorry."

"Night."

"Night, Mikey." Zatanna lay awake listening to Mikey's breathing, trying to not think about Abigail or the witch hunters, and trying to actually get to sleep. And then a whole new thought occurred to her. "Mikey?"

"S'up boss?"

Zatanna rolled over and looked at her friend. "You didn't book yourself a room, did you?"

In the dim light Zatanna could see Mikey's not-at-all guilty grin. "Nope."

"I didn't think so," Zatanna laughed.

* * *

**I am so very sorry this took me so long to update. I blame my laziness and general incompetence. Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite so long.**

**In case you guys didn't know, the witch hunter dudes are based off of the mysterious guys who ambushed Zatanna in **_**Zatanna #15. **_**I also played a bit fast and loose with Zatanna's powers a bit here, but they're so ill-defined in the comics that I don't really think it matters all that much.**

**Thank you for your time, I hope you enjoyed the read.**


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